


2021 Horror Drabble Challenge

by MercuryShep



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, Horror, Murder, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29559924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryShep/pseuds/MercuryShep
Summary: A collection of entries for the HP Writer’s Guild 2021 Horror Drabble Challenge.Each chapter is a short, bone-chilling story following one of the challenge prompts. No one is safe!(Check the notes for content warnings)
Kudos: 3
Collections: HP Fanfic Writers' Guild Horror Drabble Challenge 2021





	1. In the End

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing horror but I enjoyed stepping out of my comfort zone! Thanks to the Writer’s Guild and to PTwritesmore for putting it together!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, Sirius couldn’t do any of the things he imagined he’d do in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows the prompt **Creature**
> 
> CW for gore, cannibalism(?), death, and some descriptive onomatopoeia

In the end, he couldn’t do any of the things he imagined he’d do in this moment.

He imagined he would run away. He imagined he would stand and fight. He imagined himself clawing his way out of Death’s grasp by the skin of his teeth just in time to rescue his loved ones. 

In the end, he did none of that.

When that horrid amalgamation of flesh and bone and _teeth_ slumped through his door, gurgling as if its lungs were full of blood or bile, Sirius did absolutely nothing at all. 

He didn’t run away. He didn’t stand and fight. Hell, he didn’t even scream. He just stood there, frozen in horror, as his heart pounded so hard and fast that it left him dizzy.

In the end, Sirius Black lay in a pool of his own blood and piss, twitching as his faculties left him. Near his feet he could hear crunching, squelching, that he assumed was the sound of the creature eating. Eating _him_.

He couldn’t call for help — his own voice mimicked the sound of the creature as blood drooled from his open mouth and blocked his airways.

It was nothing like he imagined. It was cold and painful and graceless.

In the end Death took him, and he was grateful for it.


	2. What Luna had Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one had seen Luna for hours.
> 
> She did come inside with them, didn’t she? Of course she did, because they had heard her rambling about something. What was she rambling about? 
> 
> Oh, it didn’t matter what she was talking about. What mattered was that she _had_ been here, and now she wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows the prompt **Quarantine**
> 
> If anyone reads this and thinks I should add a CW, let me know!

No one had seen Luna for hours. She had been rambling, as usual, about some creature or another that no one had heard of before when they returned to Grimmauld Place for the night. 

She did come inside with them, didn’t she? Of course she did, because they had heard her rambling about something. What was she rambling about? 

Eggs? Invisible bugs? Flying rats?

Oh, it didn’t matter what she was talking about. What mattered was that she _had_ been here, and now she wasn’t.

A tense silence overtook them as they spread out, searching every dusty corner and empty cabinet in search of Luna. How could they have missed her? Where had she gone? Why could none of them remember? It was like a haze had settled upon their minds, nearly as tangible as if a fog had rolled in through the windows.

Suddenly an agonized scream and the sound of shattered glass tore through the room. Everyone turned their heads at once to the sound.

Molly Weasley sat in a plush armchair in the corner, seizing and foaming at the mouth as a considerable gash in her shoulder seeped blood onto her blouse. The glass she had held lay scattered on the floor, her hands rendered unusable by the tremors. 

They drew their wands, expecting Death Eaters, but over her instead loomed Arthur Weasley, his lips and teeth stained red. 

“Arthur, what are you—?”

Before the sentence was finished, Tonks lunged for Hestia Jones, her mouth transforming into a wolf’s maw as she clamped down. Hestia cried out before her voice was choked by foamy saliva and her limbs locked, her body collapsing with a heavy thud. 

They were overwhelmed before any of them could cast a single spell. Arthur, Tonks, Kingsley, Bill — something affected them, their eyes hollow and movements jarring. One by one they all began to attack each other, mouths dribbling with foam and blood, until the Order was reduced to nothing but a hoard of crazed and dying beasts.

And for some reason, just before Remus bit down, Harry suddenly remembered what Luna had said to them.

“Yesterday I noticed an alarmingly high volume of Aquavirius eggs settled in the bottom of my water glass, but luckily I drank none of it. Now I know this is hard to believe, since it is not their spawning season, but perhaps they were simply ready to come into the world. 

Anyhow, when I got a fresh glass of water, there were eggs coming straight from the tap! You know what that means, don’t you?

People are drinking Aquavirius eggs and they’ve not even begun to notice it. Once the eggs hatch, anyone who’s drunk the water is surely done for. 

So, if it isn’t too terribly burdensome, I believe I will quarantine at home until this issue is resolved. Perhaps we’ll be lucky if all the Death Eaters were very thirsty last night. Anyway, I’ll see you in a few days. Don’t drink the water!”


	3. Dream of Dry Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At 10 years old, Neville still had a bedwetting problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows the prompt **It Came from Inside the House**
> 
> CW for blood, death, and drowning

At 10 years old, Neville still had a bedwetting problem.

“I can’t help it!” he’d whine, “The water sounds bring it out of me!”

Frank and Alice had never heard any water dripping in Neville’s room. The ceiling and roof were intact. The nearest restroom was down the hall. It hadn’t rained in weeks. Simply put, Neville’s room was as dry as could be save for the puddles on his bed.

“Dream of dry places,” Alice told him, “like the desert or a meadow in summer.”

But still he heard it every night,  _ drip, drip, drip_ _,_ until he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to investigate.

Neville sat up, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He swung his feet out from beneath his blankets and onto the floor with a wet  _ slap_.

He gasped and drew his feet up, squinting to find the source of the wetness that clung to his toes like mud. Warm. Thick.

Then he saw it.

The ceiling and walls were swollen and distended in a way that reminded Neville of the dead piglet he had seen floating in a pond once, bloated and purple and covered in flies.

Then he smelled it.

Rot and metal flooded his nose, putrid and sickly-sweet. The air was so humid that he started to gag; it clung to his nostrils and his clothes until he huddled under the covers for safety. The smell of urine burned his throat but he preferred it to the fetor of his room.

Then he felt it.

A crushing weight slammed into his chest. The covers over his mouth and nose were too wet and heavy to lift. He panicked, but instead of drawing breath to scream he swallowed heavy mouthfuls of blood until his lungs ached. His senses were drowned by the taste of metal and the sound of rushing liquid, like a pipe burst. He felt fear and panic and excruciating pain and if he had wet himself at this point there would be no way to tell.

Then he felt nothing.


	4. The Invisible Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy was not a serial killer in the same way that a farmer is not a mass murderer. It doesn’t count when you’re slaughtering animals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows the prompt **Serial Killer**
> 
> This was an interesting one for me because I’ve never written a character with a deep hatred for someone/something before. I’ve also never written from the perspective of the villain! I hope you enjoy this little peek into a serial killer’s mind.
> 
> CW: Graphic descriptions of death and stabbing

It was quite pitiful to watch, truly. 

_There are no leading suspects at this time. There does not seem to be a specific pattern or motive as far as we are aware. More investigation needs to be done. Please stay calm and keep a watchful eye for any unusual activity._

So many excuses. So many baseless suspicions. So much rising anger and panic. 

With how quickly they would turn on each other, it was surprising they hadn’t already wiped themselves out. Luckily he was there to help them.

It was almost too easy, grabbing his target and apparating away in a blink. Their feeble minds could not comprehend it. _The Invisible Killer_ , they called him. Even the name was as dumb as they were.

Lucius Malfoy was not a serial killer in the same way that a farmer is not a mass murderer. It doesn’t count when you’re slaughtering animals.

He had one of his lambs at the ready now. A muggle girl no older than thirteen lay bound and gagged in the cellar, whimpering and writhing in panic as he neared. His heart pounded with a powerful mixture of exhilaration and rage, though he kept his footsteps slow and deliberate to prolong her torture. He wasn’t usually one for theatrics, but he wouldn’t turn down a little fun every once in a while. 

It was swift once he started. Often he couldn’t stomach being in close contact with a Mudblood for more than a minute or two before he had to resist the urge to reel back in disgust. 

“Don’t worry,” he told her, unsheathing a long knife, “it will be quick. I can’t allow your tainted blood to soil my blade for a moment longer than necessary.”

She screamed, but the sound was muffled. No one heard it. No one but Lucius. 

He couldn’t help but feel a little giddy as his knife plunged into her chest, pressure building up and then giving way repeatedly as each organ was pierced. Her flesh took the knife readily, eagerly, and he relished every inch until metal hit bone. Then finally, with a wet sucking noise, he removed his blade from the dead thing and wiped it with a linen from his coat pocket. 

When he was done he stood and watched, hatred rising in his chest like bile from his stomach, as his latest prey twitched and emptied its bowels and sighed an excess of oxygen that was no longer needed for the suffocating brain.

Even in death, they were pitiful.


End file.
